


Better Together

by msdevindanielle



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Better Together: A FitzSimmons Partnered Exchange, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdevindanielle/pseuds/msdevindanielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of What We Become, FitzSimmons find themselves reminiscing about their days at the Academy. Is there a chance that they can reconnect? Or is it too late? Written as part of the FitzSimmons Better Together Partnered Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftershocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [herstorystartedhere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herstorystartedhere/gifts).



> This was written for Tumblr users herstorystartedhere and fitzsimmons-dwarfs in celebration of the FitzSimmons Better Together partnered exchange. My awesome partner Maria (thatsforsimmons) drew some lovely artwork for the story that can be found on her Tumblr page. We really hope you two enjoy the story - it was such a great prompt to work with and we've loved getting to know you over the past couple of months. :)

"We're gonna laugh a lot less, that's for sure."

It was quiet for a while after that, the nostalgic smiles slowly fading from all of their expressions. What more was there to say anyway? They'd lost a teammate, a dear friend, and though the alien city was destroyed and HYDRA seemed to be crumbling, it wasn't enough to satisfy the cold emptiness that pervaded the base now. They'd lost people before, sure. It was in the nature of their jobs that each day couldn't be guaranteed, that tomorrow brought yet another reminder of their mortality. Jemma understood that all too well.

But understanding mortality and comprehending Trip's death were two entirely different things.

And no matter how hard Jemma tried to wrap her mind around it, she couldn't get past the fact that Trip should not have died. Truth be told, he shouldn't have been down in the temple in the first place. And who had stopped him from going down there again?

Responsible indeed.

"And this one is from when we made our badass escape from the Hub," Skye explained as she swiped through the photos on her mobile.

Most of the recreation room had cleared out by now, but for some reason Jemma couldn't bring herself to leave with the rest of them. She remained on the sofa with Skye and Fitz, taking comfort in their wistful smiles and the fact that the Diviner's destruction hadn't managed to take them from her too. There were still obstacles to be faced, and goodness knew that Raina was a formidable threat to be dealt with. But for the moment, Jemma was content to save those problems for another day.

"Wait, what's that behind you?" Fitz asked, leaning in closer on Skye's left side to inspect her phone. In the photo, Skye was standing next to Trip in front of what looked like a few of their supply rations. Both of their faces were twisted in a show of exaggerated annoyance.

Skye let out a soft laugh. "You remember when Coulson took us all out to the middle of nowhere? When we all thought he'd lost his marbles but it turned out he was right and led us to Providence?"

"Yeah," Fitz scoffed. "Thought we were gonna die out in the Canadian wilderness."

"But we didn't," Skye reminded him with a smile. She sighed in the comfortable pause that followed and looked back at her phone. "I found Trip actually trying to  _organize_  the, like, three boxes of crappy food rations we had left. So I went up to him and made a show of giving him some of my secret stash of Cosmic Brownies or, you know, whatever I had at the time. And he just looks at me for a few seconds and goes, 'Come on, girl. You think I got this good-looking by eating junk food?'"

Jemma attempted to laugh along with Skye, but the sound got caught in her throat and came out as more of a strangled sob than anything else. Thankfully neither of them seemed to be paying much attention to her, and Fitz's quiet voice managed to drown her out anyway.

"That's, uh . . ." he murmured. "Did you say you had, er . . .a secret stash? Wouldn't happen to have any more of those brownies lying around, would you?"

Jemma resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Skye didn't dignify his question with a response, though. She simply continued to stare at the photograph, apparently lost in thought. Her eyes glistened in the dim light of the room.

"That was the first conversation we ever had," she whispered, no trace of a smile on her lips anymore. "First real conversation, I mean. Kinda hard to talk to someone when you're in a coma."

Jemma felt that she should say something, explain how Trip had been there for her when she'd nearly lost all hope of saving Skye or perhaps share another anecdote. She just couldn't bear to see the look of utter sadness on Skye's face, even if Jemma herself felt that sadness burrowing a hole in her core. But Fitz actually spoke up first.

"He called you a fighter."

There was a pause before Skye broke away from her phone to look at Fitz. Jemma couldn't see her expression, but there must have been an implicit question in her eyes because Fitz's gaze flicked down to his lap. "After we gave you the GH serum," he clarified. "We didn't know if it would work on you or how it managed to stabilize you at all but, um . . .Trip just chalked it up to you being a fighter."

Fitz gave her a small smile, though it didn't exactly reach his eyes. "He's not wrong, you know." And though Jemma knew he was talking about that fateful day from what felt like a lifetime ago, she also knew that his words spanned a lot more than that singular event. Jemma still shuddered to think what might have happened to Skye had she been less fortunate down in the tunnels.

After a moment, Skye turned back to her phone. "Hadn't even met him yet and he was already trying to save my life," she chuckled as she wiped away a tear that had escaped down her cheek.

"Some people take you by surprise," Jemma said softly, remembering the first time she'd spoken with Trip too.

Skye and Fitz both turned their heads to look at her, and if Jemma hadn't known better, she might have said they looked as if they'd momentarily forgotten she'd been sitting there. She cleared her throat and gestured towards Skye's mobile. "It's a shame we don't have more pictures."

Skye let out a long sigh as she glanced at her phone again. The backlight had dimmed a little, but the selfie she'd taken with Trip still filled the screen. "Yeah," she scoffed bitterly. "One of the lovely little drawbacks of deleting people off the face of the earth. No more pictures. Except the ones we have on-"

"Hard copy," Jemma breathed. She nearly smacked herself in the forehead before getting out of her seat. "I can't believe I forgot."

She was sure Fitz and Skye were probably baffled by her sudden outburst, but Jemma decided to save the explanation for when she returned. She raced off to the Playground's hangar, wasting no time as she dug through her bookshelves on the Bus, and when she found what she was looking for, made a beeline back to the recreation room. All in all, she couldn't have been gone for more than two minutes. But by the time she plopped back down on the sofa, Skye had already managed to pour a couple shots of Smirnoff and set them out on the coffee table.

"Fitz said you probably ran off to grab your scrapbook," Skye explained as she handed Jemma a shot glass. "So I thought this would be the perfect time to bring out the fun stuff."

"But Skye, we've already had quite a few beers," Jemma protested. "And-"

"I know, I know," Skye insisted, holding up a hand to assure Jemma that she apparently knew the risks of switching to liquor at their current rate of consumption. "It's just this once, okay? And we'll be careful. Besides, I think we deserve a little vodka right now."

Jemma felt like she should argue with Skye further, but despite her uncertainty she agreed. Once she opened the book in her lap, she had a feeling she'd wish she'd taken the shot. Skye continued to hold out the glass, and after only a moment's more hesitation, Jemma reached over and downed the drink.

"Like a champ," Skye said, flashing Jemma a grin as she poured out a couple more shots. "Care for another, Dr. Simmons?"

"Oh no, that's quite all right," Jemma choked out as she set the glass on the table. But as a fuzzy warmth began to spread down to her toes, she reconsidered. "Well . . .perhaps in a bit."

Jemma ignored Skye's snickers and the concerned expression that was undoubtedly on Fitz's face. Even though they'd been avoiding each other lately and things were strange between them, she still knew what he was thinking sometimes. And the last thing she wanted right now was to have  _that_  conversation.

"Now, I think I've only got a few in here," she said slowly, opening her scrapbook to one of the later pages. "But I suppose it'll have to do."

"Aw, is that one from when we were in L.A.?" Skye asked.

"At the hotel, yeah," Jemma smiled as she gently set the book on Skye's lap so they could all see the pictures. "I've never seen Fitz get so upset about such a silly prank."

"Yeah, well excuse me for not being in a pranking mood after having been betrayed and watching our entire organization fall apart."

Skye coughed, looking like she was having a bit of trouble holding back her laughter. It probably didn't help that she'd just swallowed her own share of vodka. "It was just a cannonball, Fitz," she laughed once she'd gotten control of her breathing. "I got drenched too, remember?"

Fitz seemed momentarily defeated, although after she and Skye returned to the photos, Jemma thought she heard him mutter, "Barely."

Jemma and Skye ignored him as they flipped through the rest of the pictures, only a handful of them including Trip. One of him laughing as Skye pretended to touch Lola. One Jemma had taken in the cockpit when he'd flown them out of Portland, the sunlight glinting off of his smile. One of him and the rest of the team trying to redecorate the Playground.

And that was it. Five photos, including the one on Skye's phone. Five. It wasn't enough for Jemma. It wasn't enough, full stop. Five photos were far too few to commemorate a life that had been far too short to begin with. Trip deserved better than that.

All of a sudden, Jemma felt a queasy sensation in her stomach. She feebly tried to take the book from Skye's grasp. "There's no more, Skye," she murmured.

"Hang on, I've never seen some of these before," Skye replied distractedly, opening to some of the earlier photographs in the book. Over her shoulder, Jemma caught a glimpse of a picture taken on her seventeenth birthday, of her showing off the new necklace she'd received.

"Yep, there's probably good reason for that," Fitz said, his eyes widening as Skye continued to flip through the pages. He reached out a hand to grab the book, but Skye easily maneuvered herself so that he couldn't succeed.

"Whoa, whoa," she exclaimed, peering at a photo of Jemma and Fitz in front of the flat they shared at SciOps. Fitz was holding up the "Welcome Home" mat Jemma had picked out, and though his expression hardly conveyed anything but mild aggravation, Jemma remembered how it'd seemed to grow on him. "You guys lived together?" Skye asked incredulously.

"Well . . .you see, that's-"

"Surely you wouldn't expect us to-"

"And, er . . . _logically_  it'd-"

"Pay to rent two flats when-"

"Make the most sense, wouldn't it?"

"We could simply split the cost of one?"

" _Okay_ ," Skye said loudly, with only a hint of annoyance. In the back of her head, Jemma realized that it'd most likely been some time since Skye had heard them talk over each other. "I don't know why I'm surprised, actually," Skye muttered as she turned to the next page.

Fitz glanced briefly over at Jemma (he'd probably just realized the same thing she had), but for some reason Jemma couldn't quite meet his gaze. She was focused instead on the photographs at Skye's fingertips, photographs that spoke of another time and place, a time and place in which she and Fitz didn't act like strangers and naturally finished each other's sentences and saw the world with hope. She saw shots taken from their first private lab, shots taken at their graduation from SciTech, a candid shot one of their coworkers had taken of them laughing and drinking tea, a shot of Fitz curled up on the edge of her dormitory bed. It was all very surreal for Jemma, to see those images and connect them to the person on the other side of the sofa.

It was a different lifetime, almost. A different partnership. A different Fitz. (And, she supposed, a different Jemma too.)

In that instant, Jemma desired nothing more than to close the scrapbook and call it a night. She didn't need any more reminders of the things she'd lost. But her vision was a bit hazy and Skye was apparently on a mission to analyze every single photograph and before Jemma knew it, a faded newspaper clipping was fluttering out of the pages and onto the floor.

"Oops," Skye said as she bent over to retrieve the article, somehow beating Jemma to the punch. "Wait, what's this?"

Jemma waved a hand dismissively, even though she knew with the alcohol in her system she'd be even less successful than normal at pulling off a lie. "Oh, that's . . .it's nothing, really."

"Oh . . .my . . .God."

On the other side of the sofa, Jemma saw Fitz's eyes widen. "Bloody hell, Simmons," he groaned. "Why do you still have that in there?"

Skye had a hand covering her mouth as she continued to stare at the page in disbelief. "This is one of the greatest things I have  _ever_  seen."

"Come on, Skye, you can't be serious."

Skye shook her head. "I mean, I knew you told me you guys took a dance class at the Academy," she laughed. "But I thought you were just making it up. I sure as hell didn't think you had  _actual_  physical evidence."

Jemma gave up her attempts to take the  _Daily Cadet_  article away from Skye, partly because she was exhausted and partly because she was afraid she'd rip the page in the process. The front cover photograph displayed her and Fitz together in the Academy's atrium, underneath an article title that read "Dance Elective Sweeps SciTech Off Its Feet." It wasn't the best photo of them, and it hardly captured the basis of their friendship. But for some reason it was one of Jemma's favorites. Perhaps it was the way she was smiling or how they looked so carefree (although she knew that at the moment the photo was taken they were both desperately trying not to bicker with each other). Perhaps it was that the picture showed a different side to her and Fitz, a side she didn't even know she had until she'd taken that particular elective.

Not that any of that mattered anymore.

"Okay," Jemma conceded, trying once again to retrieve the article and the scrapbook it belonged in. "You've made your point. It's a very entertaining notion for you."

"No, no, no," Skye argued, continuing to shake her head. "This is more than entertaining. This is absolute  _gold_. How long did this go on for?"

"It only lasted a semester, Skye," Jemma said as she rolled her eyes. "It was a trial run that was very quickly discontinued on account of barely anybody taking the course, let alone passing it."

"I still can't wrap my head around you two taking it in the first place."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Fitz spoke up. "I was forced."

"Oh, please, Fitz," Jemma scoffed before she could bite her tongue. "You hardly needed any forcing."

"Well, it wasn't  _my_  bleeding idea, or did you forget that part?"

Skye was whipping her head back and forth to keep up with their conversation. "I think there's a story here that I kind of need right now," she said with a smirk.

Jemma grew quiet along with Fitz, their instinctive words echoing throughout her head. For a moment it was as if she'd been playfully arguing with the old Fitz. And it wasn't that the story was interesting or that there was even a story to tell in the first place. It was the idea that she'd forced Fitz into something, something he'd been reluctant to participate in.

It seemed to Jemma that it was another nasty habit she'd developed.

Across from Skye, Fitz gave Jemma a subtle nod, as if he didn't care one way or the other whether she told Skye. Jemma sighed and smoothed the article between the pages of the book again.

"Oh, all right."

* * *

ELEVEN YEARS AGO

Jemma didn't bother with knocking as she swept into the gloomy dorm room and flicked on the light switch. She went on to ignore the stream of curses being aimed her way from the cluttered desk and instead triumphantly placed the piece of paper in front of the recently awoken engineer.

"Ta-da," she sang, unable to keep the grin off of her face.

"For the love of Michael Faraday, Simmons," Fitz groaned as he blearily rubbed his eyelids. "Can't you see I'm trying to revise?"

"Oh yes, I can see you're very busy reviewing the finer points of your circadian rhythm," she replied sarcastically. "You know, you  _do_  have a bed you could sleep in."

Fitz gave her a half-hearted glare. "And an exam in . . ." He paused, his eyes adjusting to the light in order to make out the time on his watch. " _Ninety minutes_ , blast it all to hell." A look of panic flashed across his face, but his sudden tension seemed to ease up once his gaze focused on the piece of paper in front of him. "What the . . .?"

"It's a new elective," Jemma announced, her grin still intact. "One of the professors from Operations is teaching it as a trial run next term. Agent Weaver thought it'd be a nice change of pace for some of the students, give us a bit of something to do on the side."

She waited the few moments for her words to sink in, for him to read the brief description on the page, for some display of emotion to dawn on his face that wasn't complete skepticism. She supposed she'd probably gone into the situation a bit too optimistically, because the last thing Fitz looked was excited at the prospect of taking a dance class.

"You're . . .actually serious?" he asked slowly, as if the very mention of the idea repulsed him.

Jemma didn't know why his answer upset her so much, but she folded her arms stubbornly. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, I don't know," Fitz retorted. "Maybe because we've already got our classes lined up for next semester-"

"It's just one class, Fitz-"

"Since I  _thought_  we were set to graduate early-"

"Only once a week, it'll fit right in our timetable on Tuesday nights-"

"Or how about the fact that  _we're not dancers_ ,"

Jemma sighed in exasperation. "Well, naturally, Fitz, that's the whole point of taking the class."

Fitz had his mouth open to continue arguing with her, but Jemma powered through. "Look," she said more gently as she sat on the edge of his bed. "I know it doesn't sound all that exciting right now-"

"You're damn right," Fitz muttered.

" _But_  you don't have to take it with me if you don't want to," she insisted in as sincere of a voice as she could muster. "I just thought it'd be a nice way to take a break from our regular coursework and do something a bit different for a change. That's all. And . . .well, I can't say for  _sure_ , but I  _thought_  I overheard some of the cadets saying that field officers look at our electives when assembling their teams."

Fitz looked even more confused. "Why would we want to go into the field?"

Jemma stood up, regretting the entire useless endeavor and her decision to bring it up in the first place. "You know what? Forget it. I'll just take it on my own."

She was nearly out the door when she heard him groan. "Wait, Simmons," he sighed, closing his eyes as he ran a hand through his messy curls. Jemma bit her lip in anticipation, knowing that if she said anything she might ruin whatever train of thought was going through his head. The seconds stretched out to the point where she had to restrain herself from yelling at him to get on with it.

He took a deep breath. "You really want to do this?"

Jemma didn't roll her eyes this time. "Yes, Fitz," she said quietly.

Fitz held her gaze for a few more moments, probably trying to understand where she was coming from. Eventually he sighed again as he turned back to his desk. "You can put me down for it too, I guess," he mumbled.

Before she could stop herself, Jemma raced across the room and threw her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you, Fitz," she smiled as she gave him a peck on the cheek.

"All right, all  _right_ , Simmons," Fitz protested as he weakly pushed her away, but Jemma saw the hint of a smile on his lips too. "Now I actually  _do_  have to go over this crap because I actually  _do_  have an exam in ninety minutes. An exam which you have to take too, might I add."

"You're absolutely right," Jemma replied, unable to let his grumpiness ruin her fantastic mood. She gave his shoulders another squeeze before heading out the door. "Best of luck!"

By the time the next term rolled around and Tuesday night brought the dance instructor from Operations, Jemma had expected further protestations from Fitz. Truthfully, Jemma was surprised that the class was still going forward, let alone that Fitz would tag along with only mild complaining.

The first class was a bit rough, and that wasn't even taking into account that the  _Daily Cadet_  had sent a photographer to capture the whole thing. ("Oh, for God's sake, this is embarrassing enough as it is." "Don't pay any attention to him, Fitz, you're stepping on my toes!" "Well, maybe you should stop trying to lead!") But the venture actually didn't end as badly as Jemma had anticipated.

In fact, after weeks and weeks of going over the steps (to the point where Jemma was sure Fitz had started to lose his mind), they'd become quite good at the basics. Sure, they had to endure countless arguments, and Jemma was positive they'd broken about half a dozen dorm regulations regarding acceptable furniture arrangements to make room for practicing. But despite all of that, and despite the trial run being discontinued in later terms, Jemma felt proud in her and Fitz's accomplishments. It felt nice to excel at something outside of her field of study. And sometimes when he thought she wasn't looking, Jemma thought Fitz enjoyed himself too.

But only when he didn't step on her toes.


	2. Who You Really Are

"Huh," Skye said with a knowing smirk that Fitz didn't quite understand. She was still looking at the old clipping from the Academy newspaper. "So you two really can waltz."

Fitz avoided Jemma's eyes as he fiddled with his hands. "Don't sound so surprised," he scoffed.

"I'm not," she insisted with that infuriating grin. "I'm just wondering . . .am I gonna get a demonstration or . . .?"

"Not bloody likely," Fitz replied instinctively. He hadn't exactly meant for the words to come out so harshly, since at the moment he had no idea how to address Skye's emotional state in light of her newfound abilities. But there was no way in hell he was going to dance with Jemma. Forget the fact that he was currently keeping a secret from her or that he didn't know what to make of her recent behavior or that she'd been drinking or that he still felt sick to his stomach when he thought of Trip. It was just asking for ridicule, when it boiled down to it.

"It-it was ages ago, Skye," Jemma agreed. "And, you know, it's hardly the time or place, what with…with the alcohol and-"

"Okay, okay," Skye interrupted with a weak eye roll, setting the open scrapbook on the coffee table. "No need to freak out, guys. Just thought I'd lighten the mood. Didn't think it'd hurt to try and live a little."

It only took about a fraction of a second before Skye seemed to regret her choice of words. A wince passed over her face, and though Fitz was fairly sure he imagined it, he thought he felt the faintest of tremors below his feet. Thankfully at that moment Jemma cleared her throat loudly.

"I think I'm about ready for another one of these, actually."

It happened too quickly for Fitz to process, let alone argue with her. Before he knew what was going on, and before he could shift his attention from the worrying vibrations he'd felt, Jemma had leaned forward and downed another of the shots lined up on the table.

Fitz held his breath as he watched Jemma, searching for the telltale signs on her face. After a few seconds in which nothing troubling happened and in which her expression remained as neutral as ever, he relaxed a little. He'd have to keep an eye on her, though, at least until she decided to call it a night. But for the moment, she seemed fairly stable.

Physically, that is.

For her part, Skye broke into a grin. "I like the way you think."

They didn't speak much as they continued taking shots, though occasionally Skye or Jemma would pause to share a short story about Trip or something. After a while the stories started making less sense, but Fitz figured that was to be expected when he opted out of the vodka. It wasn't that he didn't think the girls could hold their liquor (Fitz knew for a fact that Jemma could and Skye could drink him under the table). But he also knew that Jemma had a harder time drinking when she was upset about something.

In fact, as Fitz warily watched the two of them from his spot on the sofa, his eyes kept falling on the photos from Jemma's scrapbook. The page was open to a few photographs from the beginning of their time at the Academy, one of which was taken after a night Fitz remembered as clearly as if it'd just happened the night before. It was so surreal to see that picture, a picture taken over a decade before, and know that the person on the other side of the camera was like a stranger to him now.

Perhaps stranger wasn't the word he was looking for, though. Because despite her distance from him and despite the fact that she wasn't a teenager anymore, he still recognized the slump in her shoulders and the brightness in her eyes and knew that there were some things that didn't change.

* * *

JANUARY 2004

By the time Fitz realized that the ungodly noise interrupting his sleep was actually his own mobile ringing, he was even more confused than he'd been before. He stumbled out of the bed, somehow managing to bring most of his sheets with him in the process, and tried to follow the noise in the darkness. Who the hell was calling him at this hour? The only person who ever rang him was his mum, and she knew better than to wake him up in the middle of the night.

Eventually he found his rucksack, stumbling over about two piles of laundry on the way. The last thing his eyes settled on before he flipped open the phone was the timestamp flashing 4:15 on the screen.

"'S this?" he said blearily, unable to force out a more eloquent greeting in his current state.

"Fitz?" A loud voice boomed in his ear, a voice that he not only recognized but also drove away any trace of sleepiness he had left. "Fitz, can-can you hear me?"

"Simmons?" Fitz asked, standing up quickly and trying to control his steadily increasing heart rate. He had no idea why she was calling him, but the hysteria in her voice and the late hour told him that something was most definitely wrong. "What's going on?"

There was the sound of muffled voices in the background before she responded. Admittedly, Fitz hadn't known her for very long, but he still recognized the hitch in her breathing and knew she'd either been crying or was still in the process. Neither scenario served to reduce Fitz's panic. "I, um . . .c-could you please come and get me?"

Fitz had about a million questions to ask, like why she'd chosen to call him or why she couldn't get back to her dorm on her own or what had happened to make her cry or why she was slurring her words. But the only thing he asked as he fumbled around for his trousers was, "Where are you now?"

"Oh, um . . .I'm headed outside a-at the moment, but I'm-"

"At the party," Fitz finished, briefly closing his eyes as he remembered. One of the upperclassmen had been planning a huge bash to herald in the new term, and it was all any of the cadets could talk about since they'd returned from holiday. Fitz hadn't paid much attention to the news, since he'd had absolutely no intention of going, but it was popular enough that he knew it was being held at a house just a bit off-campus. "Okay, er . . ." Fitz sighed as he stuffed his wallet and dorm keys in his pocket and tried to slide his coat on one-handed. "Okay, I'm on my way, just . . .just don't go anywhere, all right, Simmons? Just . . .stay where you are."

He heard her take in a shaky breath. "All right," she said quietly. "Um . . .s-see you in a bit?"

Fitz nodded before realizing she couldn't actually see him. "Yeah," he replied as he darted out the door and slammed it shut. "See you in a bit."

He was reluctant to end the call, but he figured that if things went smoothly he should be at the house in less than ten minutes. For a moment he considered just walking there, since the party was only a few blocks away. But an instinct consisting of red alarm bells in the back of his mind told him that he'd probably need a little more backup. After checking the lobby of Erskine Hall for the number of a cab company, he paced out on the pavement while he waited for the car. Under normal circumstances, he might have been bothered by the bitter cold he was made to wait in, or the fact that the cab's meter seemed to skyrocket for such a short distance.

But the only thing he had room to worry about was the memory of the slight hitch in Simmons's voice.

The house in question was unmistakable, since despite the hour cars still lined the street for over half a mile. Fitz was out of the cab almost before it'd stopped moving, navigating his way through the crowd and searching frantically for the person he was looking for.

Thankfully he didn't have to search for long.

He found her sitting by herself on the steps of the house's large wraparound porch, her hair cascading in front of her face as she stared at the ground. Aside from her posture and the fact that she was alone, Fitz was more than a little relieved to see that she looked mostly intact. He approached her slowly, although she didn't seem to realize he was there until he spoke.

"Jemma?"

She lifted her head quickly, and the bloodshot eyes combined with the tear tracks on her cheeks set off the alarm bells in Fitz's mind again. "Fitz," she whispered, before launching herself off the steps and practically falling on top of him. He managed to steady her just in time, but with the way she was leaning on him he was having a hard time keeping both of them upright.

"Jemma," he said, sufficiently worried now. "Jemma, what's wrong?"

Simmons shook her head insistently. "I-I'm all right, Fitz," she promised as she attempted to take a few steps towards the cab. Fitz had to scramble to wrap an arm around her waist so she didn't fall over. "Can…can we just go home? Please?"

There were so many things Fitz felt he needed to ask, but he figured the best thing to do at the moment would be to get them both out of there. "Yeah, sure thing," he murmured, continuing to support her as they made their way down the pavement. She wasn't exactly heavy, but every so often she would scare the hell out of him by becoming deadweight against his shoulder. But despite the fact that she didn't seem to be aware that she was doing it, he was reassured to see that she was still conscious by the time they reached the cab.

Fitz tried not to stare at her worriedly on the way back to campus. He really did. But frankly he was out of his depth. Not only had he never been called upon to pick someone up at four in the morning, but he also had very little experience dealing with drunken people (specifically drunken girls). Sure, he'd watched plenty of films, read the biology books, even knew his own limits when it came to alcohol. But this was something else entirely.

This actually mattered.

She didn't speak during the short drive, or when he threw a wad of cash at the cab driver, or even when he draped his coat over her shivering shoulders as he led them towards Carter Hall. The tears seemed to have stopped, though, which Fitz figured had to be a step in the right direction.

Getting her dorm room door open was a bit trickier, since he had to keep her from falling as well as rummage through her bag for the key. Eventually he managed to find the little bugger and get them inside, all the while trying to figure out what he was going to do afterwards. He didn't bother with the light switch, since she was practically asleep already, but he also didn't want to just drop her on her bed and leave.

What was he supposed to do, though? Help her with getting cleaned up? Give her something to eat? Tuck her in? Each option flashing through his head was more terrifying than the last, but as he carefully set her down on the duvet, his eyes fell upon the horrifying contraptions that were on her feet. She couldn't exactly go to sleep comfortably with shoes on, right? Especially not in that poor excuse for a pair of shoes. And, well, it was the first idea he'd gotten that he figured he could actually do without embarrassing himself.

The heels slipped off quite easily, though Fitz tried to be gentle around the red welts on her ankles. When he'd gotten them both off, he made to stand up, only to stop short at the feeling of cold hands on his cheeks. The room was still pretty dark, but as he looked up into Simmons's face, he could see that though her eyes were still bloodshot, she seemed to be fairly lucid. That is, of course, until she spoke.

"Thank you, Fitz," she said softly, giving him a small smile. "You're . . .you're such a good . . .person, you know that?"

If the situation had been any different, Fitz might have laughed. But he was so unaccustomed to her stumbling over her words and the fact that she was strangely running her thumb across his cheekbone that he thought he had to have been in some kind of weird dream. He simply stared at her in bewilderment for a few seconds, unable to come up with anything to say in response. In retrospect, he supposed he might have known what was going to happen next, if he hadn't been caught so off-guard.

But alas, he was woefully unprepared. Soon after her bizarre comment, Simmons promptly turned away, leaned over the side of the bed, and vomited onto the floor.

"Oh, dear," she commented as nonchalantly as if she'd noticed a bit of rain outside. "I should clean that up."

Fitz felt the inappropriate urge to laugh again, but he saw her face go slack again and knew he didn't have much time. "Yep, this isn't gonna work," he said quickly, trying to help her up and avoid the mess on the floor. "Simmons, you think you can make it to the toilet?"

She nodded hesitantly as she eyed the bathroom door a few feet away. But she'd only made it a couple steps before she frantically shook her head and made a mad dash to the toilet. Fitz awkwardly stood in the doorway while she continued to hurl the contents of her stomach into the bowl. He considered staying where he was, or even leaving her room entirely so she could be alone, but he was scared that if he didn't do something she would end up choking on either her own vomit or the hair that was falling into her face.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Fitz crossed the room and clumsily attempted to pull her hair back. He had no idea what the hell he was doing, or if he was making any kind of difference. But he supposed it was better than standing around uselessly while Simmons expelled everything in her system.

After a while, she relaxed against the toilet, though she was still clutching her stomach and had her eyes shut tightly in pain. Fitz slowly released her hair, making sure to keep the majority of it behind her back, and waited anxiously for her to say something. It was about ten seconds before he realized that she'd actually passed out.

"Simmons?" he said, shaking her shoulders gently and trying to pull her away from the toilet. "Simmons." When she failed to respond, he reached over to push down on the flush handle. " _Jemma_."

"Bloody hell," Simmons gasped, sitting up straight and practically collapsing on top of Fitz. She glanced around in confusion. "What's going on?"

"You were out cold."

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking back and forth between Fitz and the toilet. "N . . .no, I wasn't," she replied sluggishly. "I was just-"

But she didn't get to finish her sentence, because just then she leaned forward and vomited once more into the toilet. Fitz gave her an awkward pat on the back and waited again for the heaves to subside. "Got it all out now, have you?" he asked quietly.

Simmons slumped backwards on the floor, taking in gulps of air as she tried to regain control of her breathing. Fitz's legs and back were getting uncomfortable with the angle he was bent in, but he waited for her weak nod before trying to help her out of the bathroom.

When she collapsed haphazardly onto her bed, not even bothering to change out of her dress, she waved a hand towards the mess on the ground. "Don't . . .don't worry about that, Fitz," she mumbled, her eyelids fluttering shut. "I'll . . .I really will clean it up . . .later . . ."

Fitz let out a low laugh, not because what she'd said was hilarious but because he'd never imagined that he'd get into a situation like this with Jemma Simmons. And, okay, it was a little hilarious too. Fitz had a feeling that Simmons probably wasn't going to remember any of this in the morning.

Keeping that thought in mind, Fitz powered through his hesitations and found an extra blanket in her wardrobe, carefully spreading it out over her as she slept. She was so still that for a split second Fitz wondered if perhaps she'd stopped breathing. But no, after watching her peaceful form for a bit longer, he saw the slow rise and fall of her chest and let out a sigh of relief.

It didn't take long for Fitz to clean up the mess, funnily enough. (Although he did consider lighting a candle or something to mask the smell. He ended up settling for spraying around some fabric freshener he found in the bathroom.) By the time he was mostly finished, his watch told him that he was awake at the horrific hour of 5:37. He wasn't quite sure what happened after that, but the next thing he knew he was waking up to the sound of a click.

He lifted his head, wincing at the pain in his neck, and stared at his arm in confusion. Where on earth was he? But as he took in his surroundings (the purple duvet, the sunlight streaming through the window, the faint smell of lavender, the sound of stifled laughter coming from somewhere over to his right), he realized that he must have passed out at Simmons's place. On the edge of Simmons's bed, if he was going to get specific about it.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Fitz turned his sore neck to glare at Simmons, who was looking at him with a smile that gave the sunlight behind her a run for its money. She held a mug of tea in one hand and a camera in the other, and by the dampness of her hair Fitz figured she'd already gotten a shower in. He wanted to be irritated with her, particularly with the fact that she thought it was an appropriate time to snap a picture of him, but he was more preoccupied with the memory of what had happened the night before.

He slowly sat up on the bed, watching her move about the room. "How, um . . .how are you feeling?" he asked.

"Oh, I had a massive headache this morning," she replied briskly, continuing to fill her bag with books and supplies. "But it's gone down now. I'm actually headed to the library to get started on this week's lab report. Care to join me?"

Fitz was momentarily speechless. Did she not remember? Or was she simply trying to move past the fact that she'd been so drunk she could hardly stand and vomited all over her dorm floor? Either way Fitz knew it would most likely be in his best interest to just go along with it. "Uh . . .maybe later," he said as calmly as he could. "I should probably, you know, grab a shower and all that."

"Suit yourself," Simmons shrugged as she headed for the door. She paused at the threshold and gave him a smile. "See you in a bit?"

"Y-yeah," Fitz nodded before she disappeared down the hallway. "See you in a bit," he finished in a whisper.

They didn't really talk about that night after that, to the point where sometimes Fitz wondered if maybe it had actually been some strange dream. Simmons never told him what had happened at that party, and Fitz never asked. They didn't necessarily avoid subject or anything like that. Fitz just didn't think there was anything to say if she didn't want to talk about it. So they left it alone. But it was a long time, years even, before Fitz stopped keeping a close eye on Simmons whenever alcohol was involved.

* * *

PRESENT DAY

Skye had been gone for not even a minute when Fitz realized what was going to happen. Truthfully, he'd been about ready to head off to bed too, until he'd noticed how quiet Jemma had gotten. It wasn't simply that she was quiet, though. Silence wasn't uncomfortable for her, and besides, she'd been having trouble talking to him for some time now, what with the recent distance between them. No, it was her quietness in conjunction with the blank stare in her eyes and the slackness in her jaw that told Fitz he had about five seconds to act.

He quickly raced over to the kitchen area and grabbed a small bin, making it back to Jemma just in time for her to throw up into it. She wasn't sick for long, only a few minutes, but Fitz noticed the tears streaming down her face and instinctively began tracing circles on her back. In the back of his mind, he knew he was probably crossing some unspoken boundary that they'd put up recently. In that moment, though, he couldn't bring himself to leave her alone. Not in her current physical state. And not when he knew that in that moment she was probably thinking of all the things she could've done to prevent Trip's death.

Besides, Fitz reasoned that she probably wouldn't remember in the morning anyway.

"Come on, Jemma," he said softly once she'd finished. "Let's get you to bed."

She only somewhat resisted him as he gently pulled her up off the couch. "I . . .I should really clean all that," she mumbled against his shoulder.

A low laugh escaped Fitz's mouth, but it caught in his throat as he vividly remembered a time nearly a decade ago when she'd said nearly the same exact thing. "Don't worry about it," he murmured, letting her lean against him on the way to the bunks.

He didn't stay in her room for a long time, just long enough to make sure she made it to her bed safely and didn't need anything else. It was another surreal moment for him, to watch her sleeping peacefully and wonder how they could have possibly gotten to the place they were now. They were different people than they'd been at the Academy. Less naïve. Less hopeful. Less sure of their place in the world.

Yes, they'd both changed. Drastically, in some regards. But as much as Fitz hated change, he wondered if perhaps they'd always meant to do so. And as much as Jemma had been scaring him lately, he could still see the remnants of the wide-eyed scientist he'd met all those years ago. She'd changed his life then, for the better he'd presumed. Fitz had always thought that they were unbreakable. FitzSimmons.

On his way out the door, he paused one last time to glance back at her serene face. Perhaps at one point, that'd been true. Before lies and HYDRA and untimely confessions, they'd almost been an unbreakable force. But as Fitz closed the door behind him, he glanced at his unsteady hands and wondered if he would ever be able to accept the truth.

That they really were better off apart.


	3. One Door Closes

"That sure doesn't look like coffee."

Fitz blinked in confusion, glancing down at the two mugs in his hands as if he were seeing them for the first time. He was in the old lab (now the garage), attempting to hand Mack a steaming mug of what should have been coffee. But the mechanic simply stared at his outstretched offer with a raised eyebrow, and Fitz was left wracking his brain for some kind of clue as to what had gone wrong.

He'd been in the kitchen that morning, hadn't he? Yes, same as usual, he was positive. He'd put the kettle on, checked to make sure the coffee was brewing, gotten out the mugs. Filled up one, then the other, four healthy spoonfuls of sugar in his, a splash of milk in hers, and…

Oh.

Next to him, he heard Mack sigh loudly, probably because he'd come to the same realization as Fitz. "Go on and give it to her, man," he told Fitz with a slight shake of his head before bending back under the hood of the SUV. "Wouldn't want it to get cold."

Fitz had a moment of mild panic as he stood there with the two mugs, part of him wanting nothing more than to dump out the second cup of tea and another part of him actually considering Mack's ridiculous suggestion. "Well . . .now, you see, that's, uh . . .probably not . . .and then, of course, she's . . ." Fitz closed his eyes, pushing aside his frantic thoughts. "I'll just go get your coffee," he mumbled before preparing to dart out of there.

"Nah, don't bother, Turbo," Mack assured him with a grin. "Coulson's letting me take a look at Lola today. I'm wide awake."

Fitz remembered with a jolt the other thing he was supposed to be doing at the moment, and hoped Mack hadn't seen him freeze. "Lola?" he repeated casually. "That's . . .that's exciting."

"Yeah, well, apparently I'm being supervised," Mack said, still smiling as he used a towel to wipe the grease off of his hands. "But hey, I'll take it."

Fitz gave him a noncommittal nod. It made sense, what Coulson was doing. After what happened with Ward, Fitz couldn't blame the director for his suspicions. Fitz just wished that Coulson's suspicions didn't have to involve one of the only friends Fitz felt comfortable around at the moment.

But maybe that odd component in Little Lola would turn out to be nothing.

"Your window's closing there, buddy."

For the second time that morning, Fitz was shaken out of his thoughts, his attention brought once again to the mugs in his hands. Mugs which were slowly but steadily getting colder by the minute.

Fitz breathed out slowly, knowing that it was his own fault that he'd gotten himself in this situation. He didn't want to spend too much time dreading the encounter, though, so he headed off to the lab with the vague hope that maybe he'd have something to say by the time he got there.

When he came in through the doors, he didn't see her right away, but he heard her voice drifting over from the next lab bench.

"I just want you to be safe, Skye," she was saying. "You know that, right?"

"I do," Skye replied, her words muffled like they'd be in a video chat. "It means a lot, Jemma. Thank you."

"Okay, then. Call me if you need anything."

And just like that, Fitz remembered. Why he'd been avoiding Jemma in the first place. How she'd lied to him about what had been in the case. How she'd been upset with him for trying to protect Skye. How she was under the impression that she could fix Skye when Skye wasn't something that needed to be fixed. How after everything they'd been through together she still couldn't accept that things had changed. (That  _he_  had changed.) Maybe it was her stubbornness or maybe it was his own, but without thinking he set aside the tea mugs and walked up to the other side of the lab bench.

"How's your science experiment going?"

He hadn't meant to sound so critical, but the words were out before he could change his tone. She simply gave him a look of exasperation.

"I told you,  _Leo_ ," she retaliated, using a nickname she only ever seemed to use when she was genuinely annoyed with him. "I'm only trying to help."

The last thing Fitz wanted to do was start another argument with her, but he also couldn't walk away without letting her know how frustrated he felt. "Whatever, Jemma," he muttered, making his way to the far side of the lab to examine the component Coulson had asked him to. He knew he sounded petty. Deep down, he knew that. But he didn't have the energy to yell at her anymore, not when he knew she wouldn't really hear him.

For the rest of the morning, Fitz worked in silence, decidedly avoiding Jemma's side of the lab. It only took him about twenty minutes to identify the vibranium scanner in Little Lola's engine, and a few seconds after that to realize its implications.

That's when the power went out.

* * *

4 MAY 2012

They'd been taking a tea break when the alarms started ringing.

"Oh, good Lord," Jemma groaned, rolling her eyes as she set down her fresh cup of tea and began following the rest of their colleagues down to the bunker. "Another drill?"

Fitz folded his arms, probably because the space below the facility was unreasonably cold. "How do they expect us to get any work done around here?" he muttered. "Do they even know how long it takes to reset the lab after a lockdown?"

"It's actually irresponsible, when you think about it."

The corridor began filling with more and more people, so Jemma and Fitz paused their conversation as they searched for an empty corner away from the crowd. They hadn't even been sitting for a minute when someone from the robotics department shouted over the din.

"Guys, it's not a drill," he announced, running over to the bunker's large television set, which was usually only used to relay messages from HQ. He switched through a few channels, but they all seemed to be showing the same thing: live news coverage from New York City. Or at least that's what the headlines were telling them. Jemma had only been to the city a few times, but what she was seeing on the screen was unrecognizable.

The entire bunker grew silent as they watched the footage, trying to make sense of what was happening. An enormous hole in the sky. Alien mercenaries descending upon innocent civilians. Destruction on a level none of them had ever seen before. It was unprecedented. Jemma rarely found herself without words, but watching an unknown force tear apart one of the largest cities in the world had a way of rendering her speechless.

And then there was a shift in the tide. Someone was fighting back, yet the cameras could only catch glimpses of those attempting to help. A flash of red and blue, an incendiary arrow, a hammer. It wasn't enough, though. The alien force, wherever it came from and whatever its intentions, was going to overpower the small group.

Sometime over the hour Jemma found the hand next to hers. "What's going to happen after this?" she whispered.

"I don't know, Jemma," Fitz murmured, shaking his head. His next words were quiet, almost to the point where Jemma thought she simply imagined them. "I don't even know if there's gonna be an after."

Jemma didn't say anything in response for a while, just held onto Fitz's hand as the events in New York unfolded before their eyes. Near the end, when one of Tony Stark's iron suits flew into the wormhole, she involuntarily gripped Fitz's fingers a little tighter.

"I'm scared, Fitz."

She'd said it quietly, but she'd still managed to surprise herself. There weren't a lot of things Jemma Simmons was afraid of, and even fewer fears she'd actually admit to out loud. She supposed that under the circumstances she had every right to be frightened, but she still held her breath as she waited for Fitz to respond. He didn't look at her, didn't give any indication that he'd even heard her. But after a pause, he spoke.

"Cadmium."

Jemma didn't know what she'd been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been for him to list off a random element. She turned her head to look at him. "What?" she asked in confusion.

Fitz continued to stare at the news coverage. "Cadmium," he repeated quietly. "Physical and chemical properties."

And with that, Jemma realized what he was doing. He was trying to distract her, to take her mind off of the battle. Why he thought atomistic attribute drills would do the trick was a mystery to Jemma, and she momentarily considered arguing with him that it was neither the time nor the place. But after a while, the idea of a distraction seemed more and more appealing.

"All right," Jemma sighed, taking a deep breath. "Cadmium. Atomic number of forty-eight. Chemically similar to the other two stable metals in group twelve, zinc and mercury. Has a low melting point compared to other transition metals. Insoluble in water. Not flammable. However, in its powdered form it has the ability to burn and release toxic fumes . . ."

Fitz gave her a few more drills, during which the attacks appeared to subside. As they waited for Agent Weaver to receive word from HQ, Fitz began attempting to calculate how many alien mercenaries each of the identified heroes could take on at one time with their given skills sets. ("Banner's got the pure strength, yeah, but Thor and Stark can actually  _fly_ , so technically they've got a bit of an advantage going up against alien spacecraft . . .")

It was about twelve more hours before SciOps was given the all-clear. The sun was already coming up over the horizon by the time she and Fitz got home, but there was no way Jemma felt like sleeping. She was too excited about the prospect of a variety of life on other planets, of species or entire civilizations with their own way of living. To think that somewhere out there could be a life form with its own story, its own set of beliefs, its own way of fighting disease, its own environment that could never compare to anything on earth? It was a marvelous thing, the unknown, and Jemma knew for a fact that she wanted to explore as much of it as she could.

Later, she wondered if perhaps she should have listened to her initial fear. But in that moment, she had countless resources at her fingertips and her best friend working alongside her and worlds of possibilities waiting for them.

Her only concern was where to begin.

* * *

PRESENT DAY

Jemma knew it was a risk. She knew he hated her now, that he was upset with her for being secretive, that he still harbored resentment towards her for leaving. She knew that. But as she sat next to him on the floor of the lab, watching as strangers took apart their newest safe haven, wondering what was going to happen to them in the aftermath, she decided to take the chance.

At first, she thought it'd been a mistake, what with the way his arm tensed up. After a couple seconds, though, he placed his other hand on top of hers. And it was in that moment that she knew.

They could never go back to the way they'd been before, that much was certain. There were too many things that had happened, too many changes they'd both undergone. But maybe that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Maybe they'd needed to grow apart for some time. Maybe he'd needed to learn how to adapt to his situation and maybe she'd needed to heal on her own too. Maybe some of their arguments had been petty, or maybe underneath the surface they hadn't been petty at all. Maybe there were still many arguments to be had, many avoided conversations and words left unspoken that they still needed to work through. But as she met Fitz's eyes she realized that he was thinking the same thing she was. That maybe they  _could_  work through them.

Maybe they'd always been meant to.

It was a fleeting moment, in reality. Yet that small gesture, the warmth of his hands on hers, assured Jemma that no matter what happened or where they went from here, they would always find their way back to each other. They were FitzSimmons, after all. It was true all those years ago at the Academy and continued to remain true, whether or not they had the ability to recognize it. He was Fitz and she was Simmons and they could function without each other, but there was a reason they were still together.

They were better that way.

FIN

* * *

**A/N** : The following two drawings were created by my awesome partner Maria (thatsforsimmons on Tumblr) for the story. Thanks so much! They look amazing. :)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Below is a link to the story's soundtrack as well as the track listing. These are just a collection of songs that I was inspired by while writing this. :)
> 
> http://8tracks.com/msdevindanielle/better-together
> 
> 1\. Marvel Studios Fanfare - Brian Tyler
> 
> 2\. Polaroid - Imagine Dragons
> 
> 3\. Shut Up and Dance (Acoustic) - Jon D.
> 
> 4\. Ship to Wreck - Florence and the Machine
> 
> 5\. Believe - Mumford & Sons
> 
> 6\. Holes in the Sky - M83 with HAIM
> 
> 7\. More Time (Live From Knoxville, TN - 03/01/12) - Needtobreathe
> 
> 8\. Better Together - Jack Johnson
> 
> Much love,
> 
> MsDevinDanielle


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